A BACKDOOR INTO SURMA 131

clothed the mountains all around had taken the varied colours
and all the shades of the dry weather season—russet browns and
yellows, golds and reds. On either hand extended range after
range of mountain, entirely jungle covered from their summits
down to the streams that flowed in their wooded depths. We
met few people, here and there a little group of half a dozen
Nagas, bearing their heavy loads and plodding their way with
stubborn perseverance.

It was cold at those altitudes and the shelter erected for passers-
by at Tenongpal lies 5,000 feet above the sea level. There is
only a shanty with walls of matting through which the wind
raced noisily. From the neighbouring village a few Kuki Nagas
came to gaze at the white man, of whom few indeed pass over
this remote track. Dirty they were and unattractive, though
two or three of the " young bloods " were decked out in their
best. Their hair was bound in a chignon behind their heads.
From the lobes of their ears hung large earrings of metal and
tufts of bright feathers of birds' and iridescent beetles' wings.
Wide collars of beads encircled their necks. A short kilt, or just
a narrow strip of cloth suspended from their waists, completed
their dress. One or two carried spears.

The second day's march takes the traveller across the central
ridge of the frontier mountains. For a time the path follows the
summit and occupies its entire space, a steep descent on both
sides leading down to the two valleys. The view becomes more
extensive and more beautiful, full of changing lights and shadows,
of successions of sunlit hills and gloomy ravines. How little
life is seen in these jungles in which elephant and tiger and a host
of animals roam undisturbed. The notes of a few birds and the
weird cries of many monkeys are the only sounds.

Through the forest our little caravan proceeded, now in the
shade of giant trees the foliage of which the sunlight pierced
fitfully, and now under tunnels of vast bamboos. At times we
rested on the rocky banks of some noisy stream deep in the
recesses of a gorge, where big black butterflies hovered over the
limpid water and little fish sparkled in the pools, but such
moments are short-lived for always the climb began again and
always in single file we turned and panted and turned again up
the zig-zags of the steep narrow path. Toward evening two of
the porters showed signs of distress so Mohammed had to
abandon his pony. To its saddle the sick men's loads were made
fast. The two men, vomiting from time to time, strove wearily